Chickenbutt Soup

Oct. 24, 2006

Hi Everyone,

This is going to be a shorter email, but I had to get this story out before I forgot about it. On Sunday, I made chicken soup with my family, from scratch. Really, from scratch. First, we had to catch the chicken in our yard. So Memo and Luis (my two ¨nephews¨, 9 and 11) and I ran around the yard, chasing after this chicken in the mud, slipping and diving occasionally. Finally, Luis cornered the gallina next to a cactus-like plant, and I was able to grab it by its two legs. It didn´t struggle much, but maybe it would have if it had known what would happen next.

I took the chicken to the outdoor patio in the back of the house where we have our cocina, which is the spanish word for kitchen. In El Salvador, however, it refers to the outdoor, wood fired stove you have in the back of your house. Niña Antonia (my host-mom) was there waiting to show me how to kill a chicken. She went through the motions, and after feeling sufficiently ready to do the deed, I grabbed the chicken by the neck, and flung it around wildly like a Pete Townsend guitar windmill. After a few revolutions, its neck was broken and the mission was accomplished. I then hung it upside down, head flopping loosely about, until it stopped flapping its wings and died. What a weird feeling. I mean, I´ve killed and eaten plenty of fish in my time, but this was something different.

We then threw the chicken into some boiling water for a few minutes to loosen the feathers. I ended up plucking all the feathers out myself, which was really gross. After plucking, I stuck the chicken´s feet over the wood fire for a few minutes to remove the callouses so that we could eat the feet without fear of disease. Ew, again. After roasting the feet and peeling the dead skin away like a garlic peel, we began to clean out the insides of this poor little gallina. We ended up keeping everything, and using it in the soup. All the organs, the feet, and even, yes, even the butthole! Niña Antonia showed me how to clean the chicken butthole in order to eat it. First, you have to get rid of all the poop, and then you have to cut out the hard skin that protects the chicken from the stomach acids. And then you have yourself a ready-to-cook, sumptuous chicken butthole.

Anyway, the soup was pretty decent, but I for the first time here in ES, I had to refuse food. I just could not eat the liver that ended up in my bowl. It tasted like metal, and it reminded me of the bait we used to use while catfishing. Nasty. Luckily, they kept the feet, heart, and butthole out of my bowl. It was pretty funny to see my host sister going to town on all of those unsavory parts though.

So that´s my story about making chicken(butthole) soup, from the ground up. Nothing much else to report, except that we got another rooster to mate with our chickens, who happen to live high up in our cashew (Marañon) tree. The rooster apparently didn´t feel like gettin´ it on right away, and when he didn´t, my family yelled all kinds of epithets at it to try to inspire it. Everyone, from my 6 year old niece to my 64 year old host mom, was yelling homosexual epithets and emasculating insults at this poor chicken. It was hilarious. Oh, and I went to a piñata, or birthday party, for a 2 year old, in which there was a dancing contest. About 7 girls, ranging in age from 6 to 10, got up in front of everyone to dance to some reggaeton beats. Now, I´m definitely no prude, but I was shocked - these girls danced like they were straight out of a Snoop Dogg video. Inappropriate!! But all the adults were cheering them on. I wanted to go home, take a shower and wash that image out of my brain. If I had a shower, that is.

Ok, more to come. Hope you all are well,

Benjamín